On Whetsday (11 page)

23

Denny took the ground transport to the spaceport. At first the little stop by the quarter was empty, and when the first transport stopped Denny stepped inside and took a spot near the viewport at the front of the pod. At the last minute, just as the transport was about to leave, a cithian male hurried down the ramp and slipped through the doors. He turned his broad eye pads toward Denny, clearly expecting him to get up and leave.

Denny stayed in his seat.

The cithian thumped one of its clangers against the thick side of its heavy shell. Denny noticed that the shell was notched at several points. If he thought about it, he could have probably figured out the cithian's rank. He didn't try.

The clangers sounded again as the doors of the train slid closed and the little compartment began to move. In the enclosed space, the sound of the cithian's warning rose from a rapid pounding into a buzz that made Denny's ears ache. The cithian stepped toward him. Denny knew that the cithian was much stronger than him. The manipulators on the heavy forelimbs could have thrown him across the car. The razor edges of its mid-limbs could slash at him. Could kill him. Denny stayed in his seat.

The cithian loomed over him, close enough that Denny could see the bright light of Whetsday shining through the translucent red-black edges of its shell. Close enough to smell its powdery, sweetish smell. Then the big male backed away. It moved to the rear half of the pod and settled onto the cithian-sized bench. “Where is your respect?” the cithian asked.

Denny didn't reply.

24

By the time Denny reached the spaceport, the two suns were touching. Under his feet the sidewalk was so hot that it burned through the soles of his shoes and his shadow was touched by purplish fringes. As he approached the door of the port, Denny wished that he was not alone. This would have been much easier if Sirah or Yulia had been with him. But Yulia had gone to tell those who were there at the compartment buildings–Auntie Flash, Poppa Gow, Nonni Hanti, Auntie Yue and Auntie Fro. Sirah had gone to the market to find Auntie Talla. If she got back in time, she would also be the one to tell Poppa Jam and Cousin Haw–if they told them at all.

Back at Denny's compartment, when Athena's words were still sinking in, they had argued about who to tell. Sirah had said that they needed to tell everyone, right away. It was only fair to warn people about what was really coming.

Yulia has said they shouldn't tell anyone, because the cithians might learn that they knew. Besides, she said, there was nothing they could do. If they were all about to be consigned, better everyone didn't know what that meant. It would only make everyone upset.

Despite how much Denny might have wished that he didn't know himself, he had eventually agreed with Sirah. If they were all going to be consigned–
killed
, consigned meant killed–in just a few days, then there was really nothing to be afraid of. If the cithians found out that Denny had gone to their storage facility and taken a maton, if they found out he knew things he shouldn't know...they might take him away sooner, but it would not be all that much sooner. In the end, he just couldn't imagine not telling everyone. If they said nothing, there would be people boxing up their things on consignment day, hoping to see long missing parents, or children, or spouses. Denny didn't think he could stand by and watch them, knowing how it was all going to end.

Denny paused only a moment at the door of the spaceport. Outside it was hot and the light of the two suns seemed ready to set his hair on fire, but at least the air wasn't too bad. He took a deep breath, and plunged inside.

Inside, it was so much cooler that Denny shivered. Even before he took a breath, the sharp tang of ammonia bit at his nose. He knew it was only a tiny amount, just enough to flavor the air for those races that really needed it, but almost immediately Denny's eyes began to water and his nose began to run. He didn't know how Kettle could stand working in this place all day.

He passed a pair of skynx talking together near the door. Like skynx everywhere, they pretty much ignored him. The same could not be said of the dasiks. Denny was only a dozen steps inside the building before a lesser dasik appeared. Its long face had the same no-expression as every other dasik, but the way it held one long clawed hand near a stunstik across its chest, made the creature's mood pretty clear. It tapped a button that said, “State your business.”

“I need to talk to Kettle.”

The long finger tapped again. “This statement was not understood.”

“Cousin Kettle,” said Denny. He paused to cough as the bitter air burned in his throat. “The human who works here.”

The dasik clicked its teeth together. “Boarding area three,” said the little talking button on the dasik's jacket.

Denny slipped around the dasik. Each of the boarding areas was lined with cushioned benches. In the first area, a pair of klickiks were sprawled on the benches, apparently asleep. The second area was empty. In the third area, three skynx were waiting. One of them had a water bottle that he used to spray himself with a mist. The other two looked miserable.

Do they know? Denny wondered. Did every cithian, every skynx, every person of every race, know that there were only a few humans left? Did they have a part in it?

On the other side of the waiting skynx, Denny saw Cousin Kettle. Kettle was pushing a low cart stacked with boxes. From the way Kettle moved, Denny could tell the boxes were heavy.

Kettle pushed the cart up to the three and stopped. For several seconds, he just stood there. Finally, one of the skynx, the one with the water bottle, fished in a small pouch and came out with a green token. It flipped the token toward Kettle, who caught it out of the air.

“Thank you,” he said. Kettle had just started to turn away, when he saw Denny. At once, a frown settled over Kettle's face. He folded his arms across his chest. “The day is barely started,” he said. “If you want to ride home with me, you've got a long wait.”

Denny shook his head. “That’s not why I'm here about.”

Kettle turned, looking back up the hall toward the second area where one of the dasiks was standing. “It will have to wait. You're going to get me in trouble.”

“We're kind of already in trouble,” said Denny. “All of us.”

“Earth, Denny.” Kettle's frown deepened. “What did you do?”

“It's not me, it's...” Denny glanced at the trio of skynx. One of them had raised it low head. Its big, slitted eyes were looking their way. Maybe the skynx knew they were the last few humans, and that the last few were about to be killed. Maybe they didn't. In either case, it seemed important that the skynx not know that the humans knew. Denny took Kettle by the arm and drew him toward the corner of the loading area. They went only a few steps before Kettle wrenched his arm free.

“What's going on?”

Denny opened his mouth to tell him, then realized that he didn’t know where to start. He couldn't think of anything to say, any place to begin, that didn't sound ridiculous. Finally, he decided that there was nothing to do but charge straight in. “They're going to kill us.”

“Who is?”

Denny took a quick look over his shoulder. How good was skynx' hearing? “The cithians,” he said quietly.

Kettle rolled his eyes. “What did you do this time? Did you grab extra chez at line-up?”

“It's nothing like that. Nothing I did.” Except, of course, for disguising himself as a moltling, sneaking into a cithian storehouse and sneaking off with a maton, but Denny didn't want to get into that. “I mean they're really, really going to kill us. Actually kill us. Dead. The cithians.”

Kettle's angry expression tipped towards confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“It's when we're consigned,” said Denny. “They don't actually send us to another place like they've always said. They just...they...” Thoughts of his father rushed in again, and Denny found he had to sniff back tears. Then he realized that he was crying in front of Kettle and he turned away, wiping at his eyes with the back of his arm. “They just kill us. Kill everybody.”

“Who told you that?” asked Kettle. “Somebody is lying to you.”

Denny started to answer, then only shrugged. “They’re not. I wish it was a lie, but it’s real. Only it’s kind of a long story.”

Kettle stared over his shoulder. “I can't talk any more right now. Go outside. Wait for me.”

Looking back, Denny saw that two of the dasiks were approaching. One of them was the one Denny had met near the door. His long, clawed fingers were again lingering near his stunstik.

All of the skynx raised their heads to look at him as Denny went past. One of the dasiks pressed the button that said “leave this area immediately,” but Denny was already past him before the button was through. He was almost to the door when a deep, buzzing voice spoke from his right.

“This is the one,” it said. “Human!”

Denny stopped and turned. The two klickiks were looking at him. With their hard shiny faces and hard shiny eyes, Denny couldn't read their expressions, but they held their manipulator arms high in a way he knew meant they were interested in something.

“Yes?” said Denny.

“You are the one.” The klickik raised and lowered its crest then flicked a red arm toward the door to the sidewalk. “You are the human who dances.”

“Yes.”

“Do this,” said the klickik. “Do the human dancing.” One of its other arms dipped down into a pouch in the side of its body and came back up immediately. It flipped a small collection of green tokens that landed on the hard floor by Denny's feet.

He was sure then. He was sure that all of them, every traveler coming through the spaceport, every cithian in the plex, every skynx or chug or klickik. Everyone everywhere. They knew that they humans were down to a tiny few, and that soon they would be gone. The klickik wanted him to dance, because it didn't want to miss its last chance to see a human doing a human thing.

Denny had never felt less like dancing. Under the hard stare of the klickik’s huge silvery eyes, he found that his own eyes were leaking again. Tears were running down his cheek, dripping from the point of his chin. Some of it was the bitter air inside the space port. Most of it wasn't. Denny didn't bother to wipe the tears away.

Slowly, he started to move his feet. Slower still, he started to wave his arms.

“Home,” he sang. “Chariot take me home.” And he danced. “Grace, how sweet the sound.”

25

It was much later, after the two suns had come apart and Denny once again had a pair of different colored shadows, when Kettle came out of the spaceport. Denny had expected him to be angry. To show up with his arms folded and his face screwed up in that “you're embarrassing me” look. But Kettle came through the foggy doors of the port and walked straight up to him.

“This is real, isn't it?” he asked.

Denny nodded. And then, starting with the chug and his little purple cube, Denny told Cousin Kettle everything that had happened.

When he was done, the two of them sat on the sidewalk, beside the row of dots that led to the ground transport, and stared at the hot ground. Some cithians passed by, and a group of skynx, but no one asked Denny to dance. Which was good.

Finally, after a long silence, Kettle stood up and brushed his hands across the back of his uniform pants. He had said nothing about Denny's story, and he still didn't. But it was obvious he believed it all. “I have to go inside. There's a cargo shuttle to load.”

Denny stood and nodded. “I guess I'll go back to the quarter.”

Kettle started to turn, then turned back. “You want to come with me?” He shrugged. “I suppose it doesn't really matter if the dasiks are mad at me now.”

Together they walked back into the port and Denny winced again at the bite of ammonia in the air. Kettle saw him blinking and gave a quick laugh. “You get used to it.”

No I won't
, thought Denny.
There's no time to get used to anything
. But he didn't say that aloud.

They went past the first four waiting areas. This late in the day, all but one of the bays were empty. In that one, a tight group of cithians were sitting together. Denny thought one of them might have been the big male he upset in the transport pod, but if he was, the cithian didn't say anything as they went past.

In the fifth area, there were a dozen of the little carts like the one Kettle had been pushing earlier. “Help me with this, and we'll both leave when it's done.”

Denny helped Kettle attach three of the carts together, like a little train, then they pulled them out onto the hot tarmac. A shuttle waited, no more than a hundred steps or so from the doors. As they got closer, Denny realized the ships were much larger than he had thought. The doors at the base of the shuttle were big enough to drive three road ferries through, side by side. The room beyond those doors would have held a whole floor of Denny's compartment building, and had space for another floor above that. There were already many boxes and containers stacked in the big room when they came up the ramp with the short train of carts. Kettle called a halt in the middle of the space and directed Denny in where they should stack the contents.

Above them, ramps and walkways extended into the gloom.

“Does the pilot sit up there?” asked Denny.

Kettle shook his head. “There is no pilot.” He lifted a heavy box, turned around, and sat it on top of another. “These things aren't like picture book space ships. They're just shuttles.”

“But who flies it?”

“There's a kind of maton,” said Kettle. “You tell it where you want to go, and it goes.” He shrugged. “They're all pretty much the same.”

Denny stepped away from the supplies and walked over to the bottom of the nearest ramp. He could see that there were lights up there. Some kind of rooms. “Where does it go?”

“Anywhere. See this is really only half a shuttle. Not even that much.” Kettle held his hands up together. “The two parts fly together between planetary systems. Then, when they get close to where they are going.” He took one hand and slowly lowered it. “This part drops off and lands, leaving the star drive–which is really the bigger part–in orbit.”

Denny had seen a thousand shuttles come and go, and seen people from many worlds walk past. “Kettle, where can this thing go?”

“Anywhere,” said Kettle. Then he looked at Denny, and Denny looked back, and for the first time that day, he smiled.